


Unspoken Truths

by Emphyrio



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-07 19:34:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12848052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emphyrio/pseuds/Emphyrio
Summary: Forced to spend time with Spock, Bones accidentally uncovers some startling revelations about his favorite adversary.





	Unspoken Truths

The dim spherical light hanging above the polished wood bar flickered again as the slim bartender blew a fluorescent magenta lock out of her dark eyes and picked up the just-emptied shot glass. Bones gave his most charming grin and flashed his sapphire irises up at her as she ran a rag over the damp bar top, but her glittery purple eyelids barely flickered. He guessed that if he glanced down while she was leaning over the bar, he would be able to see down her scant leather top without any trouble. He didn’t check before she walked away. However, he did bend his neck enough to see her hike up her incredibly tight pants and lean over the bar to serve someone else. He pulled his eyes away and sighed. She was probably too young, anyways. 

Bones rubbed one eye with the heel of his hand. How many shots had he had? Not enough, that was for sure. He probably wasn’t going to get shore leave for another month, at least, so he had better make the most of the night he had. Even if it was a night alone. Kirk had, of course, been too busy with whatever stupid shit he did all day to join Bones in his reverie. And Scotty had to remain onboard as chief engineer, so Bones didn’t have any of his usual drinking buddies. But at least he was free of other…inconveniences. He glanced over to the bartender, who was apparently attempting to hide a yawn with the back of her hand without smudging her bright purple lipstick or upsetting the silver ring in her generous bottom lip. He grimaced. Definitely too young. 

Suddenly Bones and the other sparsely distributed denizens of the dim bar winced as a bright light and the dull buzz of a mulling crowd flooded in from the entrance. It was quickly shut out again as the heavy wooden door thumped closed. Bones blinked and turned his head, only to spin around again as he recognized the slim silhouette standing perplexedly at the door. He prayed he hadn’t been noticed, but he knew it was too late. He could almost hear Spock’s eyebrow raise. 

Of course, Spock proceeded directly to his side. The most logical option seemed somehow to always be the option that provided the maximum amount of inconvenience for Bones. Bones half-turned to face him, resting one elbow on the bar. Spock was in full uniform as usual, a bright contrast to the doctor’s loose collared shirt and trousers done in the style of old Earth jeans. 

“Doctor,” Spock said in what could almost be surprise, “I did not expect to find you here.” He glanced at the layer of dust collected on the dimly flickering light above him. “However,” he admitted, “perhaps I should have predicted as much.” 

Bones rolled his eyes. 

“I thought you never took shore leave, Spock,” he prodded. “What are you doing down here with us common humans?” 

Spock raised an eyebrow and swung his hands to clasp behind his back.

“I never voluntarily take shore leave, Doctor,” he explained, “but the Captain insisted that I stop working before I…‘fall asleep standing up,’ I believe he said.” 

“Forced to relax, huh? How terrible,” Bones mocked light-heartedly. “I hate to say it, Spock, but he may have a point. Why, I don’t think you’ve taken leave in the entire time we’ve served together. Although I guess I never stick around long enough to find out,” he joked. Spock nodded. 

“Having apparently no choice in the matter,” Spock continued, “I attempted to seek out the quietest possible place to reside until the Captain allows me to return. I had thought that a local tavern would not be inhabited, seeing as it is still early afternoon in this vicinity.” He glanced around the dim setting again. “I see that I was not entirely correct in this assumption.” 

“Well listen, Spock,” Bones interjected defensively, “it may be afternoon on the planet, but I’m used to the Enterprise’s time cycle, so biologically speaking, it’s about 6 pm for me. Bars on this planet are open all day for exactly that reason.” 

“I see.” 

Spock stood awkwardly next to Bones as if waiting for direction. Bones sighed and pulled out the stool next to him. It scraped against the concrete floor and Spock stepped back like a spooked horse.

“Sit down, Spock.” Bones waved at the scuffed hardwood stool as he turned back to rest both arms on the bar. “As long as you’re here you might as well keep me company.” 

Spock hesitated, then complied. His lanky frame didn’t sit quite right on the stool, and he wobbled back and forth a bit on its uneven legs. Bones bit his lip to keep from chuckling. 

“What’s your poison, Spock?” Bones asked genially. Spock cocked his head. 

“I generally try to avoid consuming poison,” he said sincerely. Bones closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. 

“No, Spock, I mean what do you like to drink?” 

Spock considered. 

“Do they serve tea at such an establishment as this?” he asked. 

“No, Spock, they don’t…look, never mind. I’ve got it.”

Bones waved to the bartender, who was leaning idly against the wall behind her and studying her dark violet nails. She bent forwards into the bar, cropped magenta hair falling across her face. “Another bourbon for me,” Bones said with an attempt at a charming smile, “and a, uh…a Brandy Alexander for the Vulcan.” He gestured to the bemused Spock with one thumb. 

The bartender straightened up and silently set two glasses on the bartop, one a shot glass and the other stemware with a wide, low triangular bowl. She grabbed a few bottles from the shelves behind her and, holding them between the fingers of one hand, nimbly tossed them to herself one at a time and poured some of the contents of each into the taller glass. It formed a semi-opaque, light brown mix. No liquid hit the table or even the sides of the glass. Then she replaced the bottles and brought out a dark honey-colored drink. Filling the shot glass, she turned to put that bottle away as well, but Bones held up a hand.

“Leave the bottle, if you don’t mind,” he requested. She set it on the bar. “I’m gonna need it,” Bones muttered under his breath. 

“What was that, Doctor?” 

“Nothing. Here.” Bones grabbed the shot glass in one hand and slid the Brandy Alexander over to Spock with the other. “Drink up.” 

Spock seemed apprehensive. Without touching the proffered drink, he watched Bones down the entire contents of the shot glass in one gulp. Bones set down the empty shot and exhaled. Seeing that Spock hadn’t followed suit, he pushed the drink closer. “Come on now,” he urged, “it’s Earth custom to accept a drink that’s been bought for you.” 

Spock gingerly took the glass and brought it up to his mouth. He took a grudging sip and began to set it back down, then blinked and seemed to reconsider. It was bitter and creamy, and washed over his tongue in an unusually stimulating fashion. Spock supposed there was no harm in drinking the concoction if it would get the doctor off his back, and it was not in fact very unpleasant. Besides, the alcohol wouldn’t affect him too much. He took another sip. Bones smiled involuntarily. Spock glanced at him, and he coughed and attempted to recover his gruff demeanor. 

“So I notice Jim didn’t take leave,” Bones remarked as he popped the glass stopper off the bourbon bottle and poured himself another shot. 

“The Captain elected to remain onboard and oversee the installation of the new navigation system.”

Bones snorted. 

“Of course he did. Wouldn’t do for the great Captain Kirk to be seen taking a break.” 

Spock raised an eyebrow. 

“The Captain made a command decision as he felt was best for the ship, Doctor. You are aware of this.”

“Well, let me ask you this, then. You’re second in command of the ship, and therefore possess the necessary credentials to oversee the installation, right?”

“Correct.”

“And you know the ship just as well as the Captain, right?”

“I do not know exactly, but I would guess that my knowledge of the Enterprise is comparable to or possibly greater than his.”

“And that Vulcan body of yours needs less rest than the Captain’s, and that highly trained Vulcan mind doesn’t need recreation in the same way our human minds do?”

“Essentially correct, yes.”

“So why didn’t Jim come down and relax and let you handle the installation?”

Spock took a long sip of the odd drink, which he was becoming more and more accustomed to. 

“I do not know,” he said finally. 

“Well, I do,” Bones declared. Spock cocked his head and looked curiously over at him. 

“And why would that be, Doctor?”

Bones took a swallow of the bourbon, forcing himself not to down the whole thing this time. 

“Because he’s afraid.” 

“I do not understand.”

“Being the youngest captain in the fleet means that you can’t ever be seen taking a day off. Can’t be seen as weak. It’s not good for him, that’s for certain, neither physically nor mentally, but I suppose that success has its costs.”

Spock was silent. Bones hadn’t noticed him drink any more, but Spock’s glass was more than half empty. He chuckled. “Need another one already, Spock?” 

The Vulcan cocked his head. 

“Oh, the drink. No, I think one should be sufficient.” 

“Yeah, that’s what they all say.” 

The two were silent for a minute or more. 

“Not much of a talkative drinker, are you, Spock?” Bones remarked. 

“I find I have little to say, Doctor.”

Bones snorted.

“That’s a first. But come on, we must have something in common that we can talk about.”

Spock leaned back and crossed his arms in consideration. 

“We both serve aboard the Enterprise; we are both executive officers; we both spend recreational time with the Captain on occasion…”

“Never mind. Finish your drink,” Bones said, gesturing to the nearly empty glass in front of Spock. The two both put their drinks to their lips at the same moment and drained them in tandem. Bones refilled his own glass, then got the attention of the bartender and pointed to the empty stemware. “More of the same, if you please,” he said over Spock’s protests. She deftly whipped up another serving of the pale brown liquid and slid it across the polished hardwood. Spock grimaced wryly as he picked up the glass and swallowed some of the fresh drink. Bones wasn’t sure, but he thought that Spock was looking a little greener than usual, especially around the tips of those alien ears. 

The two had been sipping their alcohol in silence for at least several minutes when Bones suddenly slapped the bar, startling Spock and upsetting the glasses. A splash of beige concoction hit the bar top.

“I’ve got it, Spock,” Bones exclaimed. Spock blinked. 

“Got…what exactly, Doctor?” 

“We’ve both been divorced, haven’t we?” 

Spock felt a cold rush flood down his spine. 

“I do not know if…” he stammered. “My situation is not…” He swallowed and tried again. “You have been divorced?” 

“Yeah, didn’t you know? Well, I guess I never told you,” Bones conceded, “and I suppose you and Jim don’t spend much time talking about me. See?” he grinned, “we’re learning things already.”

He slapped Spock on the back genially, which did not seem to ease the Vulcan’s discomfort. Spock took a long, deep draught before replying.

“Indeed, I never, ah, knew that about you.” 

“Yeah, I mean it’s not much of a big deal,” Bones said easily. “We were both so damn young, and we thought we knew everything about…well, everything. We thought we were soul mates. Guess we were wrong.” He regarded Spock, who actually seemed sincerely interested in what he was saying. “That’s a concept not totally unfamiliar to yourself, now is it?” 

Spock shook his head slowly. 

“I suppose not. In my culture, it is presumed that whoever you marry is typically the one you will remain with your entire life. And those marriages are often decided for the participants.” He was growing hot, but seemed to be unable to stop himself from talking. “I was only seven when my marriage was arranged.”

Bones grunted. 

“Jesus. At least I got to make my own stupid mistakes.” 

Bones swirled the bourbon around in his shot glass, peripherally aware that Spock had buried his face in the wide rim of his drink. Bones chuckled wryly. “Well, it could sure as hell be worse, Spock. You should try dealing with a kid.”

Spock nearly choked on the creamy liquor. 

“You have a child?” 

“Yeah. A daughter.” Bones was staring deep into his bourbon. “Haven’t seen her face to face in…more than 5 years. It’s not exactly easy to arrange, with her back on Earth and me up here at the edge of known space.” 

After a second, he seemed to pull himself back into reality and turned to face Spock. “I thought you knew all this stuff, Spock. Didn’t you tell me you researched every member of the executive staff before you met them?”

“I…did,” Spock replied hesitantly, “but I did not include personal lives in my research.”

“Why not? Most of this stuff is on file.”

“I suppose I did not consider it important.”

“I see.” 

There was a silence. Spock seemed fixated on an arbitrary point on the far wall and Bones had returned to staring into his glass. Then, without shifting his gaze, Bones spoke in a much lower tone than before. 

“Do you ever think about her?”

Spock shifted his weight, causing the stool to wobble, but did not reply. “You know,” Bones prompted, “the girl you were…engaged to, or whatever.”

Spock cleared his throat. 

“I understood your meaning.” 

He was silent again. 

“And?”

Spock exhaled slowly.

“T’Pring does not often enter into my thoughts. Since the bond was broken, I no longer have any connection to her. However, there are lingering traces of her presence in my mind, should I wish to seek them out.”

“No reason to do that, though, eh?” 

“No such reason has occurred to me as of yet, no.”

“Probably wise.” 

There was a second of tense silence, broken when the young bartender appeared and wiped up the spilled alcohol. She seemed to have a habit of pressing her torso into the bar as she worked, which served as a welcome distraction for Bones. As she sauntered back to the other end of the bar, Bones exhaled heavily. 

“I’d love a piece of that action,” he grinned, “eh, Spock?”

“I’m…sorry?” Spock faltered. 

“The bartender,” Bones explained. Seeing that Spock still didn’t understand, he clarified further. “I’m saying I think she’s attractive, Spock.” 

“Oh.”

“What, you don’t agree?” Bones said, laughing slightly in amazement. 

Spock gave the woman in question a cursory examination.

“She…appears to be in good health. She is well-built. I do not believe I understand the cultural significance of the, uh, the silver rings in her ears and lower lip. Are they indicative of status, or…?”

Bones shook his head in bemusement. 

“I think they’re just…stylistic, Spock. Are you telling me you don’t find her attractive at all?” he asked incredulously. 

Spock was silent. Bones laughed. 

“I guess that’s the Vulcan in you, huh? Not allowed to notice even the most pointy-eared females? Except for once every seven years, right?”

Bones didn’t think he had offended Spock, at least, no more than usual, but Spock was staring deeply into his liquor, cheeks burning a vibrant green. He suddenly spoke, without realizing he was speaking, in a low, intense tone. 

“On the contrary, Doctor, men on my planet are often quite…vocal, for lack of a better word, about their preferences towards certain females. Pon farr is often more a cultural phenomenon than a biological one. I am...somewhat of an exception on my planet.”

“What, ‘cause you don’t talk about chicks? That’s not that odd.” 

Spock’s perfectly contoured cheeks had deepened to a rich emerald. 

“It is not so much the fact that I do not talk about the attractiveness of females, Doctor,” he said in a near whisper, “than the fact that I do not find females attractive.”

Bones raised his eyebrows. He attempted to process what he had just heard. 

“So you’re telling me,” he said slowly, “that you’re...gay?” 

Spock did not raise his eyes. 

“That is a human term, of course,” he murmured. “It is...imprecise, but not inaccurate.” 

Bones let out a long sigh. 

“I mean…” he faltered, for once lacking words, “I guess I didn’t realize that Vulcans…I always thought…Jesus,” he concluded. “Do your parents know?” 

“My mother is aware. My father…suspects.” 

“That’s gotta be damn hard.” 

“My father has never been the easiest person to deal with, that is certain.”

Bones grimaced wryly. 

“No wonder you left Vulcan.”

“It certainly played a role in my decision to join Starfleet instead of remaining at home.”

Bones nodded, still slightly stunned from the revelation. He drained his bourbon and held the empty glass in his hand, considering. Spock remained staring into his drink. Bones cleared his throat. 

“Spock, have you, uh,” he started. Spock raised his head but did not turn to Bones, focusing instead on the far wall. “Uh,” Bones stammered. “Have you…told anyone else?” 

Spock took a deep breath in. 

“You are the only one who knows.”

“Wow,” Bones murmured. “I suppose I’m honored.” 

“Indeed.”

“You know that you can tell people, right?”

Spock turned to meet Bones’ intensely blue eyes. “Not that you have to tell anyone you don’t want to, of course, but nobody will see you differently for it. At least, nobody you should give a damn about will see you differently.”

Spock lowered his eyes from the sapphire gaze. 

“Perhaps they should,” he muttered. 

“Hey,” Bones exclaimed, grabbing Spock by the shoulder. Spock looked up in surprise. “You stop with that bullshit right now.” Bones’ fervor almost scared the Vulcan. “I don’t know what they told you on Vulcan, and I don’t give a damn. Earth may be less civilized than your utterly rational homeworld, but at least we don’t condemn people for having different preferences. So as long as you’re with us humans, I and the rest of the crew’ll treat you like anybody else. Pointed ears or not.”

He released Spock’s shoulder with a shake. The two remained looking into each other’s eyes for nearly a full second before Spock broke off to stare at the wall again. Bones watched him intently before turning back to his bourbon. And after a moment, nearly inaudibly,

“I appreciate that, Doctor.” 

“You damn well better,” came the gruff response. “It’s the truth, after all.”

Spock was usually chilly in human locales, but at the moment he found himself uncomfortably warm. His heart thumped violently against his side, and he could almost feel his blood soar in green rivers through distended veins. He clenched one hand into a sweaty fist and tightened the other’s grip on his glass. He closed his eyes, trying to focus on breathing and not the whirlpool in the usually still waters of his mind. The usual wall of filters that kept him from speaking his thoughts seemed to be crumbling. 

“Why do you hate me?” he whispered without meaning to.

“I’m sorry?” Bones said, hoping he didn’t hear what he thought he did. 

“Why do you hate me?” Spock repeated in a louder voice. Bones exhaled slowly, suddenly aware of an unusual surge of guilt.

“I…I don’t hate you, Spock,” he said uncertainly. “I just…well, it’s not exactly easy to work with you, you know.” He laughed softly, half in genuine amusement and half in despair. Spock opened his eyes and regarded him as he continued. “You and Jim both; with you two around, I’m always reminded of what perfection looks like, and then I look in the mirror and it’s just…not there.” He turned to Spock curiously. “I think the more interesting question, Spock, is why you hate me.”

Spock gave a very slight shake of his head. 

“You are mistaken, Doctor. Hate is an emotional phenomenon, and I of course—”

“Oh, bullshit,” Bones interrupted. “You hate me, even if it’s just in your Vulcan way, and I want to know why.” 

“I do not hate you, Doctor,” Spock repeated. 

“I’m not so sure, Spock,” Bones prodded. “I don’t remember who started this little blood feud of ours, but you certainly haven’t been a passive participant. You’re the one who insists on logic and rationality. There’s reasons for everything, right? Why not this?”

Spock’s fingers were curling tighter around the half-empty glass. 

“I’m not blaming you, Spock,” Bones continued to press, “Lord knows there are reasons to hate me. You probably think I’m an asshole, and you’re probably right. I just want to hear you say it.” 

Spock was silent. Bones snorted. 

“Fine, you don’t want to tell me? Fair enough. Too stubborn to believe that your green blood can boil just as easily as the red human stuff you hate so much, aren’t you? Well, let me tell you something—”

Spock’s drink exploded in a shower of shattered glass. Bones whipped his head away in time to avoid all but a single crystalline fleck, which left a perfect red streak on his cheek as it flew past. He put a hand to his face involuntarily as he turned back to Spock, whose hand was clenched in a tight fist where the bowl of the glass had stood a mere second ago, trembling as a frothy mixture of beige and green squeezed between the thin fingers and pooled on the bartop around the fractured glass spire that had once held a drink. 

“Do you want to know why I hate you, Doctor?” Spock whispered fiercely. Bones didn’t dare to reply. “The answer is simple.” Spock turned to face Bones, dark eyes gleaming in passionate despair. “He pays too much attention to you.” Bones was too shocked still to ask who Spock was referring to. He took his fingers away from his face and barely glanced at their crimson-stained tips before Spock spoke again. “It is not…logical,” Spock hissed. “I am clearly the superior being, and yet he is friendlier with you than he is with me. He laughs more with you. He talks to you about things other than the job.” Spock was slowly unclenching his fist, watching the verdant blood spill over the shards of glass still embedded in his flesh. “I do not understand it.” He seemed to trail off, staring at the blood pulsing from his newly severed veins. Bones calmly reached over the bar and took Spock’s wrist gently, watching him cautiously all the while. Spock did not seem to react, and Bones pulled the dripping hand to where he could examine it. He started to try and pull out any shards of glass that were large enough for him to handle, but they were slippery, and he nicked his own fingers in the process. Ruby blood trickled down his knuckles to mingle with the emerald pools. Spock was shaking his head, which caused his hand to tremble. 

“Hold still, would you, Spock?” Bones muttered. “When I came down on shore leave, the last thing I expected to be doing was picking glass out of a Vulcan’s fingers. The least you could do is help me not maim you further in the process.” 

“I do not know what came over me, Doctor,” Spock was murmuring. 

“Yeah, well, I think I do,” Bones sighed. He pulled an especially large chunk of glass out of the green flesh and tossed it on the bar. Spock barely winced. “That drink you were gulping down was about half brandy, half cocoa liquor. More than enough to get a half-human, half-Vulcan very, very drunk.”

Spock opened his mouth, but didn’t speak. He seemed oddly pale, even for himself. Bones started to say something else, but Spock interrupted by leaning over and vomiting out the entire contents of his stomach. 

Bones closed his mouth and exhaled through his nose. 

“Yeah. About that drunk.” 

Carefully drawing jagged bits of glass out of flesh was a delicate, tedious task, and one that Bones’ surgically skilled hands were eminently useful in. Still, he cut himself more than once. A few times, he glanced up to see how Spock was doing, being met every time with a blank stare. Finally Bones had to speak, if only to alleviate the boredom of his task.

“Hurt much, Spock?” He tried to manage a lighthearted smile. Spock did not reply. His face did not betray any indication of pain, but Bones supposed that he was in a lot of it. Bones grimaced. 

“You, uh, don’t need to worry,” Bones said. Spock glanced at him, almost curiously. “What you were saying earlier. You shouldn’t worry about it.” 

Spock did not react. Bones hesitated, but continued. 

“Do you want to know how sick I am of hearing about you?” 

Spock blinked. Bones started to smile in spite of himself. 

“You’re all Jim ever talks about. I’m starting to feel like there’s no escape around here.” He glanced up to see if Spock was reacting, and indeed his face had seemed to soften almost imperceptibly. He continued more confidently. “I counted how many times he said your name in one conversation. Do you know what number I got?” He waited long enough that Spock was forced to reply. 

“Obviously, I do not know, Doctor,” he said tonelessly. 

“Seventeen times, Spock. Seventeen! I thought of mentioning it to him, but you know how self-conscious he gets.” Bones was grinning openly now, and Spock’s eyes had lost their dead glaze. “I don’t even think he was saying anything of substance, to be honest with you,” Bones chuckled, “just sort of…blathering on. I nearly took his phaser and shot myself with it.” 

Spock’s face was creased in just the barest of smiles. 

“He does have a tendency to ramble, doesn’t he?” Spock remarked. Bones laughed. 

“Indeed he does. God, you should have heard him just a few years ago. At least now some of what he talks about is interesting. Back in the day it was all ‘ancient Earth history’ this and ‘breath-taking poetry’ that and blah blah blah...I mean, Jesus, this man could go on for hours on a subject I’d never even heard of. Reminds me of someone else I know, actually.” He paused to pull an especially deeply lodged piece of glass out of Spock’s palm. Spock’s jaw clenched but otherwise his face remained stoic. Bones looked up with a wry half-smile. “Stings a bit, eh?”

“Perhaps just a bit,” Spock replied, blinking to keep his eyes from watering. 

“Yeah, I figured it might. Almost done, though. I don’t have my med kit with me, but none of these punctures are too deep. I’m guessing that you’ll live to tell the tale.”

It took Bones the better part of an hour to free Spock’s hand of the embedded glass. The young bartender barely blinked when she had to wipe up half of a Brandy Alexander mixed with shattered glass and blood, both red and green. However, Bones left a generous tip in front of him, which was swept up smoothly as she passed by. 

“You’ll probably be fine,” Bones said as he returned Spock’s hand to him. “The alcohol actually sterilized the wounds some. Must’ve stung like a bitch, though.” 

Spock pulled his hand away from Bones and flexed the slender digits carefully. 

“You’re gonna want to go back to the ship and get yourself fixed up before scar tissue starts to develop,” Bones continued, “wouldn’t do to mar those perfect Vulcan hands, now would it?” 

“Indeed not, Doctor.” 

Spock stood, a bit unsteadily, or so Bones thought, and straightened his uniform. He turned to leave, but didn’t move. Bones watched as he inhaled deeply, slender chest stretching the pale blue fabric. 

“Thank you, Doctor.”

Bones shook his head. 

“Don’t mention it, Spock.”


End file.
